“It has on me immediately,” said Mr. Gridley. “I shall tomorrow transfer not only my own money, but the school funds, to the First Animal.”
“Oh dear, oh dear!” said Mr. Weezer distractedly. “That will never do! I appeal to you as a fellow banker,” he said to Freddy. “You know what will happen if they do that.”
Freddy said: “Yes, everybody will think that the First National isn’t safe, and they will take all their money out, and you won’t have any to lend to Mr. Bean.”
“I won’t have any bank!” Mr. Weezer moaned. He pulled out a large white silk banker’s handkerchief, which had his initials intertwined with dollar signs embroidered in one corner. He wiped his forehead and said: “I shall have to tell Mr. Bean that I can’t lend the money. I shall have to break my promise to him.”
“You needn’t refuse flatly,” said Freddy. “Just put him off for a while—then maybe we can get rid of Doty some other way.”
“I’ll put him off a month,” said the banker. “But if you can’t get rid of Doty in that time, I’ll have to let Mr. Bean have the money.”
They left it at that. Freddy went back to the hotel for the night, then in the morning, leaving word that if Mr. Doty asked for Mrs. Doty he was to be told that she was out of town for a few days, he presented himself at Mr. Gridley’s office. Except in arithmetic he did very well. “I still feel,” Mr. Gridley said, “that this is very irregular, but I shall admit you to the school. You will report after lunch to Miss Calomel’s room, and I shall expect you to be dressed like the other boys. You will receive fair treatment but I warn you that if you do not keep up your studies you will be dropped. Good morning.”
Freddy thought he could keep up his studies all right but he had no intention of going to school every day. Fortunately his Cousin Weedly now lived on a farm close to town, and Freddy walked out to see him. Weedly didn’t have to be persuaded. He thought it would be fun to go to school, and he agreed to take Freddy’s place three days a week. Freddy had gone to the Busy Bee and bought two of everything just alike—pants, shirt, sweater and cap—and as pigs look a good deal alike anyway, except to other pigs, Freddy was sure that none of the teachers would know the difference, particularly as there was a close family resemblance between them; they both had the same pleasant, open expression.
Freddy was sure that none of the teachers would know the difference.
So Freddy went to school that afternoon. Miss Calomel treated him just like the other pupils, and although the girls giggled a good deal at having a pig in the class, for which you can hardly blame them, everything went off well. Afterwards he went up to football practice. Everybody knew now that Freddy might play on the team, and half the school was there to watch. Mr. Finnerty was delighted.
“There hasn’t been so much interest in football here in years,” he said to the squad. “Indeed, there has been so little that I can’t blame Mr. Gridley for wanting to stop it entirely. However, don’t get the idea that we are going to pile up any big score against Tushville. Our team is still fifteen pounds lighter, man for man, than theirs, and though Freddy can rip up their line, and is better than anyone they’ve got at blocking, he can’t pass and he can’t catch; and what’s worse, he can’t run with the ball. Make no mistake, we’ve got a hard fight ahead of us.”
“I’ve got an idea about that, coach,” said Freddy. “I—” Then he stopped. Better say nothing in front of all these people, he thought. Don’t want Tushville to hear about it. Spring it on them as a surprise, and if it works…! “Tell you later,” he said.
Chapter 9
Most people think of pigs as lazy animals. As a matter of fact they are probably right. But like most lazy persons, pigs work harder, when they do work, than more energetic people. They do this because they are anxious to get through the work as quickly as possible, so they can lie down and go to sleep again. At least that was the way Freddy figured it out. And for that reason, he said, they do just as much work in a week as energetic people and should not be criticized.
But Freddy didn’t have much time to be lazy now. There was school two days a week; there was football practice nearly every afternoon; there was the Bean Home News to get out every week, and the affairs of the First Animal Bank, of which he was president, to be attended to; and there was Mr. Doty. This last was of course the most important, and so he spent as much time as possible at home, conferring with his friends on plans to get rid of the impostor.
He had to go back and forth so much between Centerboro and the farm that he got out his old bicycle and oiled it up. His legs were too short to touch the pedals at the bottom of their swing, but he could push the bicycle up the hills and then coast down the other side, so that it was faster than walking. He lost a lot of weight in the first week or so and Mrs. Bean had to take in the waistband of his trousers three times.
He was pretty puzzled about Mr. Doty. Anyone who could cheat nice people like the Beans was certainly a crook, and a mean one. When he was not around, the animals talked bitterly about him and tried their best to think up ways to get rid of him. But when he was with them he was a lot of fun telling stories and thinking up games, and then they forgot that he was a crook and began to like him again. Mrs. Wiggins had said that they ought to pretend to like him, so that he wouldn’t be suspicious of them. But they didn’t have to pretend much. Even Freddy, when Mr. Doty came down to watch football practice, and made suggestions for improving the game, had a hard time remembering what a low-down sneak he was.
“I suppose,” Freddy said, “that just as your friends have things about them that you don’t like, your enemies have things that you do.”
“The Beans are having the same trouble with him, only the other way round,” said Jinx. “We’ve got to hate him, in spite of the nice things, and they’re trying to like him, in spite of the things they don’t like. I’ve heard them talking—they don’t like his not getting up until ten o’clock. And he won’t help Mr. Bean with the chores—says he’s got a weak back, on account of he sprained it the day he won the international ski race. Huh! Only race he’d ever win would be when they ring the dinner bell.”
“Say, that’s an idea,” said Freddy. “If you want to get race records broken, instead of firing a pistol at the starting line, you ought to ring a dinner bell at the finish.”
Perhaps because the animals had this sort of sneaking liking for Mr. Doty, they couldn’t seem to think of any way to get rid of him. And then of course neither driving him away nor proving to the Beans that he was a crook would do any good—he was still Mrs. Bean’s brother. What they needed was proof that he wasn’t Aaron Doty. The only clue they had was the lettering on the big trunk he had brought with him. C.B.—Freddy was sure these were his real initials, although on the first day he had explained them to the Beans, by saying that he had been with a Wild West show, under the name of Cactus Bill. And the trunk was kept locked, so that even the mice hadn’t been able to look around in it.
But Freddy always worked on the theory that it is better to do something, than just to sit and wait. So he went into the closet where his disguises were kept, and picked out one.
Now Mr. Garble lived with his rich widowed sister, Mrs. Humphrey Underdunk, and one evening the two of them were sitting comfortably on the front porch, when a very small man in a bright checked suit much too big for him, came up the walk. It was so dark that about all they could see when he came up the steps and took off his hat, was that he had a heavy black beard and seemed to be completely bald.
He seemed to be completely bald.
Before he could speak, Mrs. Underdunk said severely: “Go away, my man. We have nothing for you.”
“Mebbe so,” said the man in a hoarse and indistinct voice, “but I got somefing—pfff!—something for you. Pfff!” he said again.
Mr. Garble laughed. “Pfff! to you,” he said. “What’s the matter—swallow a mosquito?”
“Got an impef—an impediment in my speech,” said the little man, and I gue
ss we’d better call him Freddy, for you know as well as I do that that’s who he was.
The truth was, he had two impediments. One was the pebble he had put in his cheek to disguise his voice, and the other was the beard, which wasn’t fastened very tight over his ears, and kept slipping sideways and getting into his mouth.
“You’re Garble, ain’t you?” he asked. And without waiting for an answer: “My name’s Doty—Aaron Doty.”
“Doty!” Mr. Garble jumped. “Nonsense! I know Aaron Doty; he lives with his sister, Mrs. Bean, out west of town.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Freddy. “But he ain’t Doty. Pfff! I’m Doty.”
“Well, go be Doty somewhere else,” said Mrs. Underdunk. “It’s of no interest to us.”
“Oh, let him tell his story,” said Mr. Garble tolerantly, although Freddy thought his voice trembled a little. “So you’re the real Doty, eh? Well, if all I hear is so, you’ll get a nice sum of money if you can prove it.”
“I can pfff—prove it all right, but my proofs ain’t here, and it’s no use going to the Beans, because I under-pfff—understand Mrs. Bean is satisfied that feller is her brother. That’s why I come to fuff—to see you.”
“Why me? I haven’t anything to do with it.”
“No, sir; but if I could put you in the way of making a thouff—a thouff—a thousand dollars—”
“Oh, good gracious, Herbert,” said Mrs. Underdunk, getting up, “send the fellow away. Good heavens, man, you puff like a walrus.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Freddy stolidly; “my mother was a walrus.”
“Are you trying to be funny?” she said coldly.
“I ain’t,” said Freddy. “You was. My muv—mother’s maiden name: Jenny Walrus.”
“I’ve heard quite enough about you,” said Mrs. Underdunk, and stalked into the house.
Mr. Garble laughed genially. “You mustn’t mind my sister,” he said. “She thought you were making fun of her.”
“I was,” Freddy said. “No walruses in my family. I just don’t like folks laughing at my impeff—impeff—”
“Impediment,” said Mr. Garble.
“Yeah,” said Freddy. “Thanks. Well now look, mister. This feller calls himself Doty—I been inquirin’ round town, and it seems like he’s due for some money in a couple weeks. That money ain’t his—it’s—pfff!—it’s mine. But I got to prove I’m Aaron, and I can’t do it in that time, and then pffff! ffffft! off this guy goes.”
“Pfff! Fffft! is the way he’ll go all right,” said Mr. Garble. “Excuse me. Well, where do I come into it?”
“Like this. My proofs—letters and such—are in a trunk in Mexico. I been livin’ there. I sent for it, but it won’t get here in time. So if you’d go to Mrs. Bean and tell her you know I’m the real Doty—”
“You’ll give me a thousand when you get the money is that it?” Mr. Garble interrupted. “Well, for one thing I don’t know it, and for another a thousand isn’t enough. Make it two, and prove to me you’re Doty, and maybe we can do business.”
“OK for the money,” Freddy said, “but if I could prove it I’d be talking to the Beans instead of you. What you got to lose, mister? If I don’t come through, you ain’t out anything.” And he thought: “Darned if I don’t think I’ve got him! If he takes me up, he’ll get rid of Mr. Doty, and then I’ll just disappear and everything’ll be all right.”
Mr. Garble thought for a minute, then he said: “Well, I don’t remember Aaron Doty, but I never heard that he was a dwarf. Come in the house and let’s have a look at you.”
“I’d rather not,” said Freddy. “I got weak eyes—can’t stand the light.”
Mr. Garble got up and came close and peered into Freddy’s face. “Say ‘Pfff!’ again,” he said.
“What for?” Freddy asked, and at the “f” in “for” his beard blew right out straight.
“Ha!” Mr. Garble exclaimed. “I thought so!” And he seized Freddy by the collar and the seat of the pants and rushed him through the door into the lighted hall, swung him round, and snatched off the beard. “You!” he shouted. “By thunder, I’ve got you this time!”
Freddy, whose collar was still in Mr. Garble’s grasp, tried to slip out of his coat, but the man shifted his grip and flung his arms around Freddy’s shoulders. They wrestled for a minute, each trying to trip the other. And just then Mrs. Underdunk came out into the hall.
“For heaven’s sake, Herbert,” she said, “if you want to waltz with this gentleman why don’t you—” Then she stopped. “Why, it’s the Bean pig!” she exclaimed.
“Go get the chauffeur,” gasped Mr. Garble.
Freddy knew that when the chauffeur came in, he would probably be tied up and put in a crate and shipped off to Montana. Mr. Garble had tried to do that to him once before. But his suit hampered him, and he couldn’t twist free. So he suddenly went limp, slipped down through Mr. Garble’s arms, and lay motionless on the floor. And then, before Mr. Garble had the presence of mind to see through the trick and grab him again, he jumped up and dove at Mrs. Underdunk’s knees, as if he were blocking an opposing tackler on the Tushville team. Mrs. Underdunk collapsed against the hatrack with a shriek that was quickly cut off, as Mr. Garble’s overcoat was shaken from its peg and fell down and enveloped her head.
Out of the corner of his eye, as he made for the parlor door, Freddy saw the hatrack tip slowly forward, and then come down with a bang on top of her struggling figure. Mrs. Underdunk was no friend of his, but as he galloped through the parlor he felt a little ashamed, and wished that he could stop and help her up. He had been well brought up, and he knew it was a breach of good manners to throw the furniture at your hostess, or even to knock her down. But his apology could wait. He ran through the front parlor and the back parlor and the dining room and the kitchen and out of the open kitchen door.
The cook was washing dishes in the sink. The sight of a dwarf in a checked suit, running on all fours through her kitchen, must have been rather unusual, but she merely glanced over her shoulder at him, then went on washing. But when he had gone she shook her head. “Guess I don’t have to work in no circus,” she said, and she dried her hands and went in and gave notice.
Outside in the shrubbery Freddy got his breath, and then plodded down to where he had left his bicycle, and rode home. “Darn that beard!” he said. “I almost had him. Well, I’ll have to think of something else. I wish I hadn’t swallowed that pebble.”
Chapter 10
Since their return from the west, Mr. and Mrs. Webb had been giving a series of lectures on their experiences. Their voices were of course rather small for lecturing; they would only carry a distance of about two inches; but Freddy had twisted a big sheet of paper into a cone to make a sort of megaphone for them, and when they spoke into the small end, it magnified enough so that a dozen or so animals grouped about the large end could hear clearly. Mrs. Webb’s lectures were Hollywood From a Hat Brim, and Screen Celebrities I Have Met She was a talented mimic, and could entertain an audience for hours with her imitations of various movie stars. Her imitation of Betty Grable was extraordinarily lifelike.
Mr. Webb’s talks were more serious: there was one on How I Broke Into the Movies, With Practical Hints For Beginners. Another, and a very thrilling one, dealt with perhaps their most dangerous experience, when they had been sucked up by a vacuum cleaner, whirled through into the dust bag, and had barely escaped with their lives. He also sang a few western songs in the manner of Gene Autry, and although he had neither a horse nor a guitar, everybody felt that he brought the very spirit of the open range to the platform.
The lectures were so successful that when Mr. Muszkiski, who ran the Centerboro movie theatre, read an account of them in the Bean Home News, he came out to the farm and engaged the Webbs at quite a large salary to come down once a week, on the evening when there was no show, to give them at his theatre. There was a microphone on the stage, and when it was turned up high their voices could be heard even in the la
st row of seats. Of course from the orchestra, their gestures couldn’t be seen, and even the Webbs themselves were only tiny black specks, but at Mr. Muszkiski’s suggestion, the audience all brought opera glasses and binoculars and telescopes, and when Mrs. Webb did her imitations, they stamped and cheered till the windows shook. Even the Beans came down one evening and made as much noise as anybody.
But of course the Beans were pretty unhappy, for the date was approaching when Mr. Weezer had to lend them the money for Mr. Doty. The animals noticed that Mrs. Bean no longer sang while she was doing the housework, and Mr. Bean no longer smoked his pipe, because he was saving money by not buying tobacco. It made them feel sad to see him without smoke puffing out of his mouth and seeping out of his whiskers; it was like looking at an abandoned factory chimney, and they began to turn against Mr. Doty. Fewer and fewer of them came to listen to his stories, and when he came out in the barnyard they turned their backs and walked away. When he noticed this, the mean streak in Mr. Doty came out. If a dog walked away without answering his whistle, he would call it names, and even throw stones at it. Perhaps he thought they were afraid of him. But he was in a good deal more danger than he realized.
He did realize it a little when the animals began to play tricks on him. A dog would creep up behind him and bark suddenly, or if he held out his hand with a lump of sugar for Hank, the horse would put his head down and smell of it, and then bring his head up quickly to catch Mr. Doty a crack under the chin. Or a cow would switch her tail and whack him on the nose. Uncle Solomon, the screech owl, spent one whole night flying into Mr. Doty’s window every half hour and giving his crazy laugh from the head of the bed. And always, wherever Mr. Doty went, even in his bed at night, there were ominous rustlings and whisperings and gigglings.
Freddy Plays Football Page 7
